


The Golden Diaries

by akingdomofunicorns



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Gen, I'm really bored ok, and this is awesome, or maybe not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:37:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingdomofunicorns/pseuds/akingdomofunicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes good, old Dumbledore has good ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden Diaries

**Sunday, 9 pm.**

**Mood: Look at the day. Look at the time.**

Professor Dumbledore says we must write on a diary for the next month or so, because it’s supposed to help us concentrate on our impending exams. Merlin knows I need it; Joff is ace at cheating despite all the charms put on the exams to prevent it and Tomm is as bookish as the rest of his super duper special study group formed by super duper smart people. And then there’s me: pretty and fun Myrcella who can’t study at the library because Robb Stark is always there when she goes, and who can’t study in the Common Room because there’s no way to study there.

I should do something about my crush, I can’t just fail Arithmency because I can’t concentrate when Robb is around. Or I could just find another corner in the library. But that would be rather depressing, having him so close and not being able to stare at his perfection. 

**Monday, 6:12 am**

**Mood: Don’t. Just don’t.**

The only good thing about this ridiculous school is the uniform. I don’t have enough spare time to spend it choosing what clothes to wear. That’s for adults. Or summer. Whatever.

FOOD. 

**Monday, 7 am**

**Mood: FOOD.**

My hair’s a mess, but that’s okay, so is my life. I’m never going to get a boyfriend this way, and that’s something I really want. I don’t want to die a virgin. Arya says sex is awesome. She should know, she’s been shagging Gendry for the last two months.

I really hope no one reads this. Especially Dumbledore. 

**Monday, 7:08 am**

**Mood: Still eating.**

Hey, Professor Dumbledore! If you’re reading this, I would like you to know that I want to change Gryffindor’s lion in favour of a koala. They’re more fluffy. Thank you for your time. 

**Monday, 8:14 am**

**Mood: There’s nothing like History of Magic first thing in the morning.**

I wonder what Harry Potter will fuck up this year. Here I am, trying to accomplish something in my life, and there he is, saving the world every two months from some thing or another. 

**Monday, 8:21 am**

**Mood: Same as above.**

That scar is really ugly, though. 

**Monday, 8:37 am**

**Mood: Sweet Lord of The Rings, someone save me.**

I think Arya is drawing Gendry shirtless. Wait, let me see.

She is. She needs to find herself a hobby. And no, fencing doesn’t count. Neither does being annoying. 

**Monday, 4 pm**

**Mood: I thought it was impossible to blush as much as Ginny. I was wrong.**

Robb has caught me looking. I repeat, Robb has caught me staring at him. Lets get out of here before he has the time to complain to the librarian that I’m stalking. Which I’m not, I promise, Professor Dumbledore.

Oh, wait, wait, wait, no, he’s coming, run Myrcella, run- 

**Monday, 4:29 pm**

**Mood: I’m stupid.**

Next time, Myrcella, don’t stay writing on this thing when what you want to do is run away. Really… 

**Monday, 4:30 pm**

**Mood: Oops.**

“Hey, Myrcella.”

“Hey, Robb.”

“How’re O.W.L.S.”

“Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know… It’s just that everytime I see you ‘round you look tired and stressed and about to punch someone in the throat. And you come around a lot.”

Blush.

Stammer.

Blush even more. Rinse and repeat.

“I’m fine, just trying to get everything right. Mum will murder me if I don’t.”

“Oh, okay, then. I have to go, now, N.E.W.T’s are a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, sorry. Have fun, though.”

“You too.”

Add to that ten minutes of stunned silence. Can I consider this a fantasy? Should I masturbate when I get back to my dorm? 

**Monday, 6:48 pm**

**Mood: SLEEP.**

I’ve just woken up with a roll of parchment glued to my face. I think it’s time to leave the library and meet my bed. I’ll have Arya bring me food.

I hope this makes you realise, Professor Dumbledore, about how much homework you allow you teachers to give. 

**Tuesday, 6:11 am**

**Mood: I might punch someone in the throat today.**

Wait what? 

**Tuesday, 7:02 am**

**Mood: What?**

WHY IS ROBB LOOKING AT ME ALL WEIRD? 

**Tuesday, 7:10 am**

**Mood: Why?**

WHY IS EVERYONE LOOKING AT ME ALL WEIRD? 

**Tuesday, 7:22 am**

**Mood: Murder.**

Arya is a dead witch. 

**Tuesday, 7:46 am**

**Mood: Crying.**

I managed to clean the moustache Arya had drawn on me over the night and now I’m crying because I’ve missed breakfast. I only had time for a cup of milk and a muffin. What about eggs? What about sausages? What about bacon? What about second breakfast because I’m the only short person in the family (except for Uncle Tyrion, of course, but I didn’t mean it like that) and they all call me hobbit? Even Uncle Tyrion! Why can’t I have a normal family? And why did Tolkien write about things that do not exist, like Elves or Ents? He knew they didn’t exist, he was a wizard!

Bah, at least I’m not crying anymore. Arya better have grabbed me some food or I will eat McGonagall. 

**Tuesday, 3:30 pm**

**Mood: YES.**

“Hey, Myrcella.”

“Hello, Robb.”

“I thought it was a nice moustache.”

“Thanks. So did your sister.”

“I’m sure she did. You should get back at her.”

“I would, if I had the time.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

Blush.

Stammering.

Even more blushing. Rinse and repeat.

“Is there something you wanted to say, Robb?”

“Oh, well, yes, but I don’t know if…”

“You should say it already.”

“But you’re not gonna agree. You’ll say no, and I don’t want that.”

“You can’t know that.”

“But you don’t have time!”

“For what?”

“To go on a date to Hogsmeade.”

“Ugh, Hogsmeade is too far from here. But we could sneak into the kitchens and forget about textbooks for about and hour and a half before I go insane.”

“How do you know how to get inside the kitchens.”

“Hannah Abbott is easy to bribe with massages.”

“So it’s a date, then?”

“Yeah, totally.”

“Bye, Myrcella. See you around.”

“Bye, Robb.”

It’s time to get upstairs so I can do the victory dance and probably masturbate. Thank you, Merlin.

(I’m sorry for the mental images, Mr. Dumbledore.) 

**Tuesday, 4:45 pm**

**Mood: Hell yeah!**

I love my life. And I love this diary thing. Long live the reign of Dumbledore on the Iron Throne. No, wait, I’ve got my big chairs mixed up.

Whatever, who cares? I’ve got a date with the one and only Robb Stark. My life is as golden as my hair.


End file.
